Talk
by EnlightenedSkye
Summary: Kanan has had plenty of experience with the Rylothian accent. [First SWR fic. Kanera-centric, but others do appear. Vague references to Season 1 and A New Dawn. Rated for innuendo. Complete oneshot]


A/N: Hello, everyone! My name is Skye, and I'm usually a casual bystander in this fandom. I've written prolifically for other shows, but this is my first SWR ficlet. (If you want to know the truth, I'm procrastinating on starting work on a fic for another fandom right now. Shh!) Like everyone else, I was enchanted by Hera's lapse into her natural accent in _Homecoming_. And because I am a shameless Kanera shipper like all of you, I wondered how her Rylothian tone might have come out to play before.

This oneshot is unbetaed and complete as published. Rated for innuendo. This jumps around chronologically, so be prepared for tense changes. English is not my first language, so I apologize ahead of time for anything that is lost in translation. Enjoy!

 **Talk**

In the past few years he'd spent alongside her, he had only heard it a handful of times, but each time was more special than the last.

When they first met over a decade ago, her every syllable had been dredged in it. For the first few months he strained to understand it, until at last they'd forged their own working language, one borne out of necessity. They spent all their time together, sometimes going an entire day in silence, the barest of shrugs and smiles conveying all of the meaning they desired. Kanan spent most evenings in introspection, chasing away the violent images of the past that haunted him, without fail, every single time he closed his eyes. He often self medicated in order to sleep, and was used to hiding their consistent shortage of tranquilizers from Hera. But he suspected that she knew. It was there in the sympathetic smirk she offered as he joined her in the cockpit each morning, his customary flask of Spiran caf waiting in the copilot's seat. It was also there in the way that her tones were especially soft in the mornings, arms crossed at her chest and feet propped up on the dashboard.

In this way the _Ghost_ 's skeleton crew passed many days. When they were not performing repairs or fighting against their common enemy, Kanan and Hera would speak on whatever troubled them. Oftentimes it wasn't a life-scarring memory, but an amusing anecdote salvaged from their sabotaged childhoods. Over the rim of his mug, Kanan would study the way her lips would form each word, her breast rising and falling underneath her flight suit. And he decided that he would quite like to spend the foreseeable future listening to Hera Syndulla speak.

He never intended to become attached; it sort of just happened. One evening, as he thrashed and cried out his sleep against an unseen adversary, she was suddenly at his bedside, one knee propped up on the blanket, bleary eyed with her own exhaustion. Her droid, the ever-loyal and _(he suspected)_ slightly homicidal Chopper, squawked and warbled from the doorway. Instinctively, Kanan seized hold of her outstretched wrists and shot bolt upright. Sleep's haze had yet to clear, and he suddenly felt incredibly vulnerable. One of them had to have lost their balance, for the next moment they were in a tangle on the floor.

It is all they can do to gape at each other for one endless second; he's breathing heavily, and she is slack-jawed with surprise. Carefully, she extricated herself from their delicate arrangement and looked on as her droid clambered away. At long last when her heart rate has stabilized, she said, "I thought you were having a nightmare. I could hear you from across the corridor."

And it's all in the way she says it, with the end of _nightmare_ and _hear_ slurred like _ah_ 's, her _t_ 's and _d_ 's dissipating before she could fully sound them out. Or perhaps it's the fact that he's never seen her without her goggles and cap. Kanan could now see that her forehead is smooth and impossibly high, before branching off into twin lekku whose motion he knew would betray more emotion than any facial expression. In spite of his frightened state, it occurred to him that in all of his misadventures, he'd never seen a more beautiful woman.

"I was," he replied somewhat dumbly, scrambling to stand. "But I'm alright." Hera accepted his outstretched hand, gazing up at him with doubt etched across her features.

Their hands stay clasped together for such a time unbecoming to two colleagues in arms, but neither particularly mind. "Are you sure? You don't want to... _maybe_ …"

"Talk about it?" Kanan answered automatically, his haste speaking in turn of his words. The pair sit together, somewhat awkwardly, on the edge of his bunk. There's a decorous space between them, but the silence that followed was electrifying. At last he breached it: "Thank you, Hera."

She's yet to listen to the subject matter of his night terrors, and it might be some time yet before she hears the end of it. The pilot had some inkling of the jedi's past when he joined her crew, and it wasn't like she didn't have things to hide for herself. So, fully knowing that they'd now be awake for most of the night, Hera smiled and said, "Don't mention it, love."

And just like that, something has changed between them. It's the first time he speaks to her of Master Billaba, and her of the strained relationship with her father. He weeps; she in turn hides her tears in his collar and lets him wrap her in a comforting embrace. At some point they doze off, and when Hera awakens, she's a little startled to feel Kanan spooned against her backside, his hand grasping hers and held near her heart. She turns this way and that and finally catches sight of the chronometer on the wall; in the dim light, she can barely make out the time. But as her newly found bedmate shifts in his sleep and draws her closer, she feels like someone has just turned the lights in the cabin to full strength.

The next time Kanan hears her slip out of the Outer Rim standard she's adopted out of familiarity and undercover purposes, word has reached them that a particular rebel cell they once coordinated attacks with has been neutralized by the empire. By then they'd adopted a fourth crew member, a hulking and brooding Lasat with no patience for sentimentality. So it is only behind closed doors she confesses what is on her mind.

"I've always known it could happen to us," she acknowledges, "but I hate constantly putting you and Zeb in danger."

The way she pronounces it in her emotional state, the _z_ sounds suspiciously like an _s_. He sighs and sits beside her, silently seeking her hand underneath the table. Unlike the months after their first heart-to-heart, she takes it without a hint of hesitation. "This is the life we've chosen, Hera. We've got to remember we're fighting for a higher purpose."

Her look can best be described as reproachful, with a hint of skepticism. She knows he's right, and there's no question that she agrees. As always, his presence calms her, centers her, and clears aside any lingering doubts. But she's not above teasing him a little.

"I'm not getting a lecture about how there is no chaos, no death, but only the force, am I? Because that would _really_ -"

She's silenced with a swift kiss on the cheek and a rasped chuckle. Hera briefly closes her eyes and leans in for a more affectionate gesture, but her jedi has moved away from her side.

"So is that the end of this conversation? Kanan Jarrus, you'd better get back here at once!" The louder her voice grew, the more her Rylothian accent came to the forefront, until her final three words all but slurred together. The only response she received was a cocky smile and a thumbs up from the doorway. That was all she needed to pursue him in such high spirits that Zeb would gaze at them curiously as they entered the common area together, breathless with laughter.

The growing distance from her home world isn't just external. Slowly, memories of a cave hidden far below ground and a childhood squandered begin to fade and are replaced with happy ones; a Mandalorian girl sporting a rather large chip on her shoulder joins the crew. Hera is quick to take her under her arm, and the two become fast friends. One morning, as the two sat admiring the expanse of empty space before them, Sabine marvels at the fact that she sounds nothing like any of the other Twi'leks she's ever met.

"I've spent too much time around humans," she acquiesces with a laugh, and everything considered, decides that isn't a bad thing.

The months pass with another addition to their ranks. Sure they were being chased from one corner of the galaxy to the next without hope of reprieve, but for a small girl who had been reared in the darkness far below ground, the universe was infinite. She and Kanan had a family now, however nontraditional, and they would do whatever it took to preserve that.

One evening as the rest of their crew slept, Kanan's restless nature took him to the engine room. There he found Hera, the upper half of her body concealed by an open hatch. Faint mechanical clicking and beeps came from within the crawlspace; the _Ghost_ 's pilot was forever tuning up the ship, whether it needed repairs or not. As she worked, she hummed a little under her breath, and her hips swayed with the rhythm of the indecipherable words.

That small movement stirred something amatory in Kanan's gut. He stepped further into the room, gaze locked on the gentle curves of his lover's body. At that instant her voice swelled into the chorus of a Rylothian folk song, syllables rising and falling in breathy cadence. So startled was he that the jedi failed to notice the open toolbox near his feet and tripped over it, hands scrambling for purchase before he barely deflected a faceplant by use of a force push.

Hera wasn't so lucky. Gasping aloud at the sudden noise, she made an attempt to stand upright, only to strike her head against the metal panel. After a moment of groaning and barely suppressed curses, she reared back and glared at the person who had caused the injury. At his sheepish expression, her countenance softened slightly, but her arms came up to cross over her chest. _Yes, he knew that look._

"Sorry, I was having trouble sleeping," he apologized, and when he was treated to a raised eyebrow, following it up with: "You know how much I love listening to you sing."

That much was true, but she wasn't convinced. "Are you sure you were focused on _my voice_?"

 _Busted_. Kanan stood slowly, holding up his hands in mock surrender. She harrumphed and set to righting the toolbox, but the mischievous glint in her eye was unmistakeable.

"What if I made it up to you?" He asked before he could stop himself.

Hera is now struggling to hide her smile. "I don't know how you could possibly do _that_ ," she replied, the final word purposefully elongated.

It's not the first time she's used her accent to get him into bed, and it won't be the last.

A few weeks later, Kanan finds himself dashing down a city block, pursued shortly by a persistent squadron of storm troopers that had recognized them in the open air market. Ezra's labored breathing and his own blood pounding in his ears are the only things on which he can focus. His mind is racing as he thinks several steps ahead.

"Why don't we stand and fight?" His padawan hissed, keeping one hand on the slingshot in his belt as he ran. In response, he shook his head. The boy had only been under his tutelage for three months, and yet his confidence remained at an all time high. He didn't seem to understand that undue retaliation would attract the wrong kinds of attention, and that would only hurt the citizens of Lothal in the end.

Besides, he had faith that Hera would be waiting for them exactly at their drop point. Navigating the Imperial patrol cover would have been a challenge for anyone, but she wasn't just any ordinary pilot. And sure enough, just as he was about to reach for his lightsaber, there was the Ghost, ducking and weaving between buildings without so much as a single hesitation.

The loading ramp deploys just ahead; the wind shears around the ship as it makes a sudden turn. It's plain to see that she has no plans of slowing down.

"Follow my lead," Kanan calls out to his companion, and takes a flying leap into the air.

There's an endless moment while his eyes are closed and he feels weightless; the force surrounds him and keeps him buoyant, and soon the comforting sensation of the deck is beneath his feet. He turns just in time to see the edge of the ramp slide past Ezra's fingers; with a practiced twitch of the wrist, the boy flies upward and forward, bracing the impact with his shoulder as he comes skidding into the chamber.

"You hesitated," he chastises; Sabine's voice comes on over the internal comm, relaying a request for one of them to proceed to the midship turret immediately. Clearly, they'll have to continue the impromptu lesson at a later date.

Ezra beats him to the ladder, scoffing over his shoulder, "Are you kidding me? I almost _died_ , and the first thing you tell me is that-"

Perhaps his reaction just a month ago would have been to tell the kid to shut up, but Kanan only sighed and urged him forward. His padawan reminded him a great deal of himself as a young man-overtly confident, impetuous, and a bit of a nuisance. And because he had no room to speak on the natural progression of adolescence, he abandoned the argument before it could even begin.

The next half an hour is all a blur as the crew trades places at the guns and in the cockpit, desperately attempting to evade the Imperial patrol that was hot on their trail. At last, after a somewhat less than advisable jump to hyperspace at the very fringes of Lothal's atmosphere, Kanan seeks a brief moment of respite in the common area. All in quiet for a moment, save for a snippet of good natured bickering on the other side of the wall. It seemed that repairs were already underway.

The doors come open and tension suddenly reenters his body. He can feel her rage before she even opens her mouth. "What were you thinking? I specifically told you to stay out of the center of town after last time!"

He leans back, taking in her confrontational posture. The truth was their routine outing for supplies had turned near disastrous after an old accomplice of Ezra's had called out his name on the street. Perhaps it was time to seek out another home base.

Over the course of several minutes he relays this to her, until she is seated across from him, considerably less angry. After a moment of silence, she says, "I'm sorry, dear. For a moment I let my doubts get to me and there was a very real possibility that I could lose…"

Her voice has become progressively slurred, until by the end of her sentence her accent returns in force. Tears were gathered at the corners of her eyes; before he could stop himself, he wipes one away with his finger before it could start to trail down her cheek. "I was thinking the same," he mutters, and a knowing smile passes between the two.

She moves around the rim of the table and embraces him tightly, knowing that this might be their last physical contact for the remainder of the day. But now it is enough that he loves her and she loves him, down to the very last idiosyncrasy and personality quirk. One day they will talk about it, this persistent fear of loss. And hopefully it will all be before it is too late.

For Kanan and Hera, time is always running out.

 **The End**


End file.
